a long while long

It has been a while since I visited this space
this phrase
this taste
that lingers on my hands that use it all
the invisible
the unlivable
that takes bites at my heart and the left ear
prickly pear
morning prayer
I mutter and scream regardless of life
who dies
advise
please advise on the nature of joy
of Troy
of God:
am I you or you I in this quest we call birth
we observe
and prefer
we emerge
and reverse
we occur
and we flirt
with the time that revolves in the quietest of rooms
don’t you wait! fill your womb
with the now and the myths
don’t you wait now! fill it with…

about a tree

Sprouted I did                           !
I heard that I was needed some         where
and  decided to walk there
only to find myself firmly rooted 

to a girl with branches
in a land of dust and questions
where silence is the last desire
and the first at times

when there is nothing else but the
wait for that ray of sunshine that 
will bring hope to the girl’s eyes
the one with the branches

                                                       and the dust

                                                             and the questions

 

rain

alleged importance

Is it real?
               

                  Does it label me?
Make me better?                            or best!
Does it give me a certain energy
of           attraction         or   r e p u l s i o n?

Was it meant for me the very first day
I inhabited this
                               human shell?
Was it written on some star before
I landed HERE?
Was it a coincidence that my mother
Heard it from a friend?

What do you feel when the sound of my name
leaves your lips r i d i n g         an                              exhale?
Does it make them tingle
in hope of sensual outcomes?
Do you have an expectation of response?

Does it fit me when I wake in the morning?
Sometimes I feel it loose around my field
like it wants to leave so I can become someone
                                                                                                           else

So I let it take off while I become shortened versions of it
or nicknames or a whistle or a sigh..

                But all the while…

                It’s you
who pronounces my name often…
                           you
so be honest and
                                                      say it

ritual of purification

Uplifted and                            

                        brought down
plummeting

                    like

                                a fallen

                                             angel

and bam!     bam!bam!                 STOP!

            bam!   bam!                                        bam!

bruises and cuts

Did I say just bruises and cuts
there was the blood         too
all       over       the         pavement             and grass             and windowpanes
did you taste the splatter

I bit my tongue
to stop the s c r e a m i n g
death feels so certain when
your reflection quickens onthesideofbuildings
and you hope for those wings
push them out with all your might
only to               (inhale)

and bam!

                              I forgave you

of all the things… You

I am in love. I have been in love many times before… Is it tastier now? Brighter, redder, heavier? Are the lights off? Can I feel anything but you while I bruise my knees in the dark? Do I trust you…       more…        less than..

Will I have the courage to be happy? Finally let go of all the definitions that I impose on love, on you? You don’t deserve labels and yet it comes so naturally. So much easier to look at you and redefine you based on my needs as a human. How fair is that to you, my darling? How fair is it really? You are undefinable. You look at me with such devotion and I, sometimes, still doubt it. How fair is that to you? I allow the past to poke me and feed my ego with breadcrumbs. And I… I always end up feeling hungry.                                   Who can survive on breadcrumbs? 

I want the present … full of all there is of you… of your smile that draws air out of the room; of the way your eyes reflect all the light around me; of your mouth that seems to eat my soul in small pieces at a time and leaves me bleeding with a hint of pain; of time surrounded by your presence; of bites and growls and moans and sighs and breath. I want to live you in parallel universes. 

Yesterday… at one past midnight you whispered that you loved all versions of me: the one that cries and is scared of telling you her wants; the one that builds walls you have to climb to get a peek of her brow; the one that laughs with you until her toes tickle; the one that reveals for you the love of the moon even when the sky is a black hole; the one that loves to taste your fluids; the one with stars in her eyes; the one that… the one… you just love… 

Sometimes I wonder what you want from me and you answer as if you knew all that I wanted to give. Everything, you say… 

And I smile with pleasure because I can only give everything to the one who doesn’t hesitate to ask for its existence. 

Does it scare you when I try my best, when I try my worst…when nothing seems to matter and everything is important? Does it scare you when I lose control and become a disgrace to humanity? When I dance wildly and expect my limbs to rise me to the ether? Does it scare you when I speak of taking flight on dragons in other dimensions? Does anything scare you, my darling? Losing you, you say… 

There is no losing me, you see…. I have always been here… in all of space… 

And I breathe…

                      I breathe you…

                                           I breathe you all…

What else if not this…

I am not sure when it began, this feeling of melancholia that voices all of my pasts. I tapped into it one day … but it wasn’t created then; it had already sprung years before. Maybe it was the first time I felt I disappointed my mother or when I broke someone’s heart. Or when my father died.

Could it be a past life? Or many? Does it matter where it derived from? Sometimes the why just leads you down a hole when all you want to do is dip your toes in a cloud. Nothing wrong with holes … as long as they are rabbit holes. Where time belongs in a rabbit’s hand and all heads roll at the point of a finger. Because then melancholy would not be this odd underlying current that electrifies everyone but you because no one understands it. It would be, instead, a Cheshire cat’s grin, potions, darkness, light that comes through mirrors and transcend. It’s all things and nothing at all.

Maybe it would be at least one of these synonyms: sadness, sorrow, unhappiness, woe, desolation, dejection, depression, despondency, gloom, gloominess, misery and… yet none of them describe mine. Because…

My melancholy is a friend that drives me forward and daydreams. It inspires me and makes my hands come to life with creation. It reaches into my throat and plucks my vocal chords for song. It draws my legs and arms to dance into a story. It converses with my erotic creature screaming secrets to offer transparency. It accepts all colors and prays to the moon. It talks to aliens and dragons and spirits. It covers my body with blankets and makes it walk completely nude. It inhabits all my veins. It looks into another’s eyes and really sees. It loves Creation unconditionally. My melancholia cries into surrender…

and I live…